“I think you’re trying to bait me now,” Leland said.

“You’re not going to deny that there is such a thing as police brutality, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“You wouldn’t want to say how often it happens, or to whom, or when, or where, would you?”

“I don’t have any knowledge of those things.”

“I f-find that hard to believe,” she said.

“Find what you want,” he said. “If you were honest about people, you would be able to face the fact that you are going to have something like that in every organization, and that sometimes it can conceal itself from the authority—or even dominate it. You are going to have it in any department the size of the P.S.P.D. I know that that department does a good job of staying on top of those things, and that it is the best police department in the state and one of the top five in the country. You can’t demand better men on the one hand and then tear down the Department on the other—not recklessly, not irresponsibly. You have to make up your mind—or could you be one of those people still looking to a time when police aren’t necessary at all?”

“Joe, I think we can go on to something else,” Roberts said.

“Mr. Leland, I wonder if you’ve ever tried to really look at yourself,” Phyllis Reynolds said as if she had not heard Roberts. “A man’s life was in the balance when you were having your jokes with that television man—”

“Jokes? You were here. Where’s your sense of perspective?”

“Phyllis—” Roberts said.

“No, I’m sorry. I know this man. I d-do know you, Mr. Leland. Practically everybody in this city knows you, and a good many whom I know resent you. Hate you, in fact. You’re a relatively famous man, a hero, and you’ve achieved your lofty position over the dead bodies of others—”

“That’s enough.” He got to his feet, handing his drink to Norma. “Is the door open?”

“Th-think about it,” Phyllis Reynolds said. “You’ve never been in the public eye except when other men have died. Here we have another horrible instance, and you just happen to turn up in front of a television camera—”

“Phyllis!”

“The door is open, Joe,” Norma said. “Wait, I want to go with you.”

“You don’t have to.” His back was to Roberts.

“I want to.” She handed up his glass and her glass, which contained a soft drink. His hands were shaking. He blamed Roberts for this. He had to blame Roberts. Norma did not try to say good night to the others.

“I’m sorry,” she said as they went through the living room.

“Keep it for another minute.”

She let him pass to pick up his coat from the kitchen chair and then she closed the doors after them. The air seemed to have turned colder. It was the alcohol; he had let down his defenses. He had not lost his own perspective, yet he hurt. He could not remember ever having thought the things she had said. Now he stopped, opened his coat, and put it around Norma’s shoulders. She smiled, shaking her head, as if he were being foolish.